Page 54 of Paths

“Grady, she won’t open her eyes.” Raine is crying in back of me, but I don’t stop to look.

“Never again. You won’t touch them ever again. Fucking asshole.” I pull his head up by his hair and pound it into the tile.

Holly and Peyton are crying in the background, but I don’t process it.

Sirens.

I look down at my hands. Wet and sticky, covered in blood.

His blood.

When I look down at the man who gave us life, but was too weak to be a father, I fall back on my ass.

Resting my elbows on my bent knees, I hold my hands up in front of me and slowly blink.

Things start to come into focus. The blood, my sisters crying, my father … and the blood. His blood—all-fucking-over me.

The sirens get louder.

“They’re almost here, Gracie. Wake up,” Raine begs through her sobs.

Only when I hear the sirens stop and pounding at the front door, do I feel how deeply my chest is heaving. So much, it’s almost painful.

That’s when I blink one more time. I look around.

It all comes into focus. I see it.

As the police file into my childhood home that’s been nothing but hell ever since our mother died—it happens.

The police try to talk to me, EMS start to work on Gracie, my other three sisters continue to cry.

Even though EMS start to work on him, I know.

Only then do I realize.

It’s over.

“Grady?” Her voice is rough with sleep.

My eyes fly open and I feel myself gasping for a breath.

“You jerked awake. Are you okay?”

She’s leaning up on a forearm looking down at me through the dark. Her eyes are worried.

Shit. I slept. Not like I’ve been sleeping with naps here and there, not allowing myself to really rest, because when I do, I dream, and I’m so sick of that motherfucker taking over my head. I can’t believe I let it happen the first time I’m in her bed. The last thing I remember is enjoying her soft hair against my skin.

I roll, pulling her into my arms, and just when I thought she felt good there earlier, it’s nothing compared to now.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Even though my actions don’t mirror my words, I offer what I don’t want to do. “Sometimes I don’t sleep well. I’ll go back to the sofa so I won’t wake you again.”

“No.” She burrows deeper in my chest, holding me to her. “Don’t go.”

I should leave her to sleep, but I’m selfish. “I’ll try not to wake you again.”

“I’m good,” she murmurs against my chest, and sounds like she’s already close to sleep.

I hold her tight and close my eyes.

---